War In The Eyes Of A Child

• Josh Robertson, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2010

Damp, Dark, Dispirited. I struggled to stay conscious as the thick, toxic gas seeped through under my half-burned door. With my vision hazed and my neck aching, I turned my head towards the window hoping to see life, but it was black, pitch black. No noise was heard apart from my incessant weeping, I was only 8, and I had no real idea what was really happening. I could hear continuous thumping from my outside window. It was even louder when it happened, everyone was screaming and the whole world just went still for me. I remember, the standard peace and quiet in my diminutive city townhouse. I remember, the sheer terror brought onto my Mum’s face as we heard the first one go down. I remember as our house was hit, how petrified I felt. As I lay there, practically lifeless, I heard sirens coming from downstairs. Downstairs? ‘How was this house still standing’, I thought to myself, as the sirens became more obvious and near. A lay there, waiting for the source of the sirens to appear and I soon found that the sirens I heard were been held by some German soldiers, approaching my door. Then, my door was broken apart as hefty men in gas masks and firearms barged into my bedroom. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I was trapped, and the two men grabbed both my wrists and ankles tightly with their fists and took me away into the darkness.
They took me through the shattered remnants of my house and I vaguely remember seeing our grand piano in pieces, the kitchen table wrecked and a sight that I do not want to remember, my Mum. Dead, lifeless on the floor, blood spurring out, it pains me to talk about it. As we walked through the already broken-down door, I got a first glimpse of a truly war ravaged down. Dead bodies lined the streets and all the buildings around me were broken and scorched. I was right near where one of the first bombs were dropped. Lights were rapidly flashing over the town and explosions could be heard from neighbourhoods away. Apart from the few torches carried by the men who were carrying me, the only things that lit up the street were the fires that scattered the burning down buildings. The once warming feel of fire turned into a sea of pain and anguish. I felt all alone in the world, didn’t know what to do, completely helpless. They began running, and then sprinting and I heard gunshots behind me. They threw me into an armoured vehicle and shouted to each other in German. Then just like that, I was driven from my past and into the future. My name is James Wickman, and this is the first chapter of my survival story of life.